It lifted its head from the spoor; it was that of Zikali set upon the hound's body, Zikali who laughed instead of baying.

Then one whose copper ornaments tinkled as she walked, entered beside me, whispering into my ear.

"A quarter of a hundred years have gone by since we talked together in this haunted kloof," she seemed to whisper, "and before we talk again face to face there remain to pass of years"-- Here she ceased, though naturally I should have liked to hear the number.

But that is just where dreams break down.

They tell us only of what we know, or can evolve therefrom.